


Color & Duller

by weak_brooke



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Sad Ending, also angry and confusing??, and freaks out when stiles gets hurt, isaac is protective and scary, protective!Isaac, stiles isnt sure he knows who isaac is anymore, this is sad and idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 07:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4598154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weak_brooke/pseuds/weak_brooke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: mmm maybe they're in a fight with the alphas and then stiles gets hit or hurt and then isaac gets all protective and badass then everyone just goes ohh shit here it comes</p>
<p>“Isaac!” he screams, and Isaac flinches, eyes flickering cerulean for a moment. “Fucking stop, Isaac!” And now Stiles is sobbing, sticky fingers clutching his own chest as he cries, scared and helpless and guilty. Salty tears mix with the blood trickling from his hairline, but all he can focus on is the blonde boy –his angel. his angel?– in front of him, slashing at the throat of an Alpha like he’s forgotten there’s such a thing as humanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Color & Duller

Stiles is red and yellow, dripping bruises to the floor – crimson seeping from his ankle, palms, forehead, neck. His eyelids are shuddering, hazel irises shocked with red scattered about them. Kali’s nails, sharp and sticky with his warm blood, dig into his left forearm, and she grins something wicked. The flesh under her fingers is receptive, never fighting back, the cells unable to regenerate like a werewolf’s.

She doesn’t want to kill him; there is no benefit to be had. Fascinated, however, she continues to pin the human boy against the wall, her teeth bared and she drags her nails against his soft, wet skin.

Behind her, the hectic drone of the fight begins to peak – Scott’s roaring as he knocks one of the twins to the concrete floor; one of Allison’s arrows is slicing through the air toward Ennis; and Isaac –

Isaac is blue and violent, burning deep inside a body of slate and ice. His shout is thunder, his golden eyes lightning that flashes bright enough for the semi-conscious Stiles across the room to notice. Isaac is upon them in seconds, nostrils flaring as he’s hit with the terrifying scent of Stiles’ blood.

He rips Kali away from Stiles, away from the fragile boy, and knocks her to the floor. She’s stunned, briefly, and Isaac takes the chance by falling to his knees, straddling her. His extended claws are at her throat in a nanosecond, flesh tearing under his frenzied fingertips.

The loft has gone silent except for the gurgling noises spilling from Kali’s lips and the animalistic growls coming from Isaac. Scott has lost the upper hand in his fight, now sporting a bloodied lip as one of the twins hovers above him. Allison is crouched by one of the other pillars, bow readied but quiver empty.

The thud of Stiles’ body finally collapsing to the floor doesn’t deter Isaac in the slightest. But Stiles is still sort of conscious, becoming more and more alert with each second as his fear and confusion heighten.

“Isaac!” he screams, and Isaac flinches, eyes flickering cerulean for a moment. “Fucking _stop_ , Isaac!” And now Stiles is sobbing, sticky fingers clutching his own chest as he cries, scared and helpless and _guilty_. Salty tears mix with the blood trickling from his hairline, but all he can focus on is the blonde boy –his angel. his angel?– in front of him, slashing at the throat of an Alpha like he’s forgotten there’s such a thing as humanity.

Isaac scrambles to Stiles instantly, Kali slipping to the back of his mind. His touch is gentle when he reaches for the brunette, claws long gone and blue eyes desperate and pleading. His fingers dance along Stiles’ torso, his crossed legs, his cheeks, searching anxiously for all of his wounds – checking, fearfully, for anything that might be fatal to a human.

“Stiles.”  Stiles vaguely thinks that’s Isaac’s voice, but he’s slipping again, his bloodshot eyes curling upward. Isaac shakes him before clutching at his chin, bringing his face in close. “Stiles. Stiles, look at me. Please, please, just look at me. Okay? Stiles? Baby?”

Stiles nods, blinking furiously, concentrating on focusing on Isaac’s face. He tries to ignore the cardinal streaks painting Isaac’s skin, tries to pretend that this is just his innocent boy – the boy who holds his hand walking to class, the boy who kisses away his sadness, the boy who brings him dark-roasted coffee on Monday mornings _just because_ –

“I’m okay,” he manages to choke out, convincing neither himself nor Isaac.

Isaac simply shakes his head in response, returning to checking Stiles’ body for imperfections. His eyes grow dark, almost navy, as they rake over each wound. Most of them will need stitches, but logically, he knows in the back of his mind that Stiles will be okay.

Fingers drifting down Stiles’ body, Isaac eventually settles on wrapping his fingers delicately around Stiles’ wrists. He locks eyes with the smaller boy, holds his gaze for a few moments as they both breathe out raggedly. Behind them, the silence drags on, but Isaac can sense that there are less people in the room.

He surges forward, presses his bloody lips into the crease between Stiles’ nose and cheek. He breathes heavily against Stiles skin, inhaling his scent, listening to the furious beating of his panicked heart. His mouth moves to the edge of Stiles’ left eyebrow to one of the moles on his cheek to the tear tracks racing down his chin.

“You’re okay,” Isaac eventually affirms, and he’s shaking more than the human boy below him.

Stiles blinks around his own tears, allowing his gaze to drift to Kali’s body behind Isaac. Another choked sob leaves his throat, confusion and relief and terror seeping out of every bone in his body. His eyes shift back to Isaac – to the desperate, beastly look still lingering in the blonde’s eyes. “You’re not,” he whispers, voice tripping over red and yellow and _Isaac_ because this isn’t his gentle boy.

Isaac stills, eyes blue, grip tightening, and for once, he doesn’t allow himself to meet Stiles’ gaze.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote another stisaac fic because i love this pairing so much tbh. i got the prompt from stisaaclibrary and i'm probably going to write some more soon! again, feel free to send me any prompts/ideas/suggestions! thank you for reading!


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